


the rest is silence

by rangerhitomi



Series: radical dreamers [12]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: M/M, Past Lives, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 18:46:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rangerhitomi/pseuds/rangerhitomi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Durbe searches for Nasch on the battlefield.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the rest is silence

**Author's Note:**

> There’s a divinity that shapes our ends,  
> Rough-hew them how we will.  
> -Hamlet, Act V

The last knight kneels amidst his fallen comrades, breathing in the stench of corpses rotting in the humid air. He places his hand to his face, struggling to hold back his sickness, but he’s failed four times now and his body is shaking with dehydration.

Where is his king? He doesn’t know. He’s afraid to know, afraid that he is the lone survivor of Vector’s madness and that he will find his king’s body lying in a bloody heap deep in the labyrinth he entered hours ago and never left.

He chokes out a sob and doubles over, precious water streaming from his eyes, stomach emptying itself a fifth time, and he prays for it to end.

—-

Nasch is smiling at him, a rare, warm smile, and Durbe basks in it, knowing that it is directed at  _him_ , and there will never be another with whom Nasch shares it. That’s all it will ever be:  a smile, a gentle touch on the shoulder or the small of his back, an occasional embrace, the onetime kiss they knew they never should have had, but Durbe is still flustered from it; his heart is still fluttering like a hummingbird, and he gives Nasch a weak smile in return.

They’re standing on the balcony of Nasch’s palace, overlooking the city, and there is no moon, but the stars are bright this night. There is a sorrow in Nasch’s eyes still, as there is in Durbe’s, because they both know what must happen now.

“I have to follow him.”

Durbe nods slowly, and Nasch’s smile slides off his face.

“Will you follow me, Durbe?”

Durbe reaches for Nasch’s hand – cautiously, and his heart flutters even more – and he stops millimeters away. Incredible how he could have kissed Nasch only to find that he couldn’t close a tiny gap and touch Nasch’s soft hands. But Nasch reaches out and their fingers brush, and Durbe feels a jolt in his body.

“I will follow you to the end of the world,” Durbe murmurs, looking down at their hands. “I will follow you into Hell.”

 _Such loyalty,_  a voice whispers, and the illusion is broken.

Was it ever real?

Durbe breathes in the stench of death and his own vomit and has to choke down another wave of nausea. He doesn’t see anyone, but his quaking hand fumbles for his sword – a gift from Nasch – and he forces himself to sit up.

“Who’s there?”

No one, as far as he can see, but a shiver runs through his body as he struggles to stand, and the voice laughs quietly. The sound terrifies Durbe, nearly stops his heart.

_You loved your king, didn’t you Durbe?_

“How do you know my-”

_I know everything. I know your fears and desires. What if I told you your king was dead?_

He has to dig his sword point into the blood-soaked earth to hold himself upright. “He isn’t.”

A louder laugh, this time.  _You failed him, Durbe._

Durbe’s hand shakes so much he drops the sword and he falls in a heap to the ground. He covers his ears to shut out the voice, but it’s coming from nowhere physical and it’s in his  _head_ now, and Durbe squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head  _no, no, no_  as if it will actually make it not true, and it’s  _not_ true, is it?

 _It’s true,_ the voice insists.  _It was your fault, you know. Your fault you couldn’t save Merag. Your fault you couldn’t protect Nasch, couldn’t stop him from chasing Vector._

“I did everything I could!” Durbe screams, and his voice echoes through the valley, but the only ones to hear it are his dead friends. “It was  _Vector’s_ fault! Vector did all of this, killed everyone, killed Merag-”

Anger surges through his body now; anger at Vector for starting this war, anger at himself for failing his closest friends. He can’t think straight, he can’t see; he wants to find Vector, to put his sword through Vector’s body and stand over him as the mad tyrant’s life leaves his eyes.

He hates himself, he’s  _terrified_ of himself, and how is he any better than Vector now?

 _Good,_  the voice says soothingly, and it’s louder than ever before.  _You want revenge on Vector? I can give it to you._

 _It’s cold_ , Durbe realizes dimly, but he suddenly doesn’t feel it anymore. He doesn’t feel anything but hatred.

—-

He drags himself through the valley, once covered in golden lilies and waist-high grasses that tickled as they brushed his skin. Now it’s covered in blood lilies and grasses flattened by the violence and bodies littering the ground.

 _War_ , he thinks to himself,  _is such a disgustingly human thing._

The sun is setting before he sees the man he came for. Vector, with his twisted smile and bloody hands, standing over Nasch’s body-

Everything in Durbe snaps, every ounce of hard-fought control dissipates in an instant as his hand clenches on the hilt of his sword, and Vector’s face melts into one of terror, and he calls out Durbe’s name-

_Durbe, it’s me! It’s me!_

-but when he feels his weapon slide through the man’s body, feels the organs squelch and the warm blood pour over his hands, sliding over his gauntlets onto the thin cloth covering his arms, he looks up to see Vector’s eyes.

Except they aren’t Vector’s, they’re Nasch’s, and they are filled with pain that transcends the physical.

Nasch falls against Durbe as Durbe screams his name as he falls to his knees, heart ripping almost physically from his torment, and pulls his sword from his king’s body.

Durbe holds Nasch against him, voice barely able to form the words he wants to say, so he just repeats Nasch’s name over and over and  _over_  and Nasch places a bloody hand on Durbe’s face.

His voice is hoarse, and Durbe can barely hear it over his anguished, uncontrollable whimpers. “If you ever loved me,” he begins, and Durbe doesn’t want to hear the rest, because his best friend is dying in his arms and  _he was the one who did it_  – him, not Vector! – but Nasch squeezes his eyes shut as he coughs up blood onto Durbe’s beaten and dented armor. “I want you… to return… to your home…”

“I can’t,” Durbe whispers, because the long flight home with only Mach and his own tortured memories for company would kill him in the most literal sense.

Nasch smiles, and it’s that warm smile – Durbe’s smile – but it’s not how Durbe wants it to be, eyes losing their spark, losing the  _Nasch_  in them, and blood dribbles over Nasch’s chin as he takes one final, tremulous breath. “If you ever loved me… remember me.”

Durbe holds his dead king in his arms and screams into the hastening darkness, and when his voice is gone and he has no moisture left in his swollen eyes and his head throbs so much he can barely see, he manages to choke out a quiet whisper.

“Goodnight, my dear friend. Find peace in your rest.”


End file.
